


Journey

by Indira



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Post-The Truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:39:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indira/pseuds/Indira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if there was only one choice, and all the others were wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Journey

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Wendelah for helping me get an account, and with thanks to Fox for announcing the reboot and inspiring this piece.

**1.**

 

“Maybe there’s hope.”

 

 Unsteady, unsure.

 

 Scully wasn’t sure about anything anymore, except the steady beat of his heart under her hand and the feel of his arms around her.

 

When she joined the FBI, when she left a promising medical career to walk those stairs into the basement, she had a path ahead of her. A plan – twelve months, five years, ten years. It was laughable now. 

 

Her path had changed, morphed, shifted and mutated countless times.

 

She wasn’t sure when, or how gradually, or the precise moment at which it all changed.

 

She simply remembered being young, with short hair and a hopeful step, reaching out to introduce herself to her new partner. Fox Mulder. Young, baby-faced, uncertain – but never wavering in his belief.

 

“Maybe there is,” she agreed, shifting lightly in his arms. Her nose traced his cheekbone. His legs were entwined with hers – two strands of DNA twisting into the hapless night.

 

“Scully…” he whispered, tracing a finger around the edge of her face. There were fine lines etched in her forehead now, lines that would not disappear. She was painfully aware of them.

 

“I missed you,” she breathed, in shallow, rapid breaths as his hand traced along her thighs, under the robe she wore, “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through.”

 

She laced her fingers through his own, anchoring him. A reminder. A gesture they’d shared a thousand times over.

 

A memory of tiny fingers grasping his came racing back – of the weight of his newborn son, of Scully’s desperate sobs as she revealed her guilt - her desperate, binding guilt.

 

The memory took Mulder’s breath away.

 

“What I’ve been through? Scully, I… It was you, it was you who – “

 

“ – Stop, please,” She turned and faced him – met his eyes. Her own were dark and tired, “please.”

 

His fingers brushed across the soft skin of her hipbone, and he sighed.

 

Moments passed, the constant drip of rain – moments in time, passing too quickly, not passing fast enough.

 

“I said I would do it all again Mulder, and I meant that.”

He thought of her – his partner, with her too-big suits, laughing with him in the rain, reaching for him in the dark, cradling him on the ice. He thought of her surrounded in a Christmas glow, her laughter over a baseball bat, her hand slipping into his.

 

He looked down at her – his partner, still.

 

“I know.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sometime in the night, Scully woke to Mulder’s movements. He was distressed, it was clear for her to see that within moments of waking.

 

He was twitching, murmuring in his sleep, his brow furrowed and his hand curled into a fist.

 

“Mulder,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead, taking his hand in hers, “Mulder, it’s me.”

 

He stilled, reached for her instinctively.

 

Inside, their hands read one another like a map.

 

Outside, the rain continued – an endless cacophony of sound.

 

 

**2.**

 

“Hey Scully?”

 

It was hot and stormy southern summer. Scully was in shorts. Mulder had never seen Scully in shorts, until this year.

 

He loved it.

 

“Mmmhmm?” She barely looked up from her book. 

 

“I uh… I want to ring your mum.”

 

Now he had her full attention. Her book snapped shut and she looked over her glasses at him.

 

“I think… it’s been a year, you know, and I think it’s time.”

 

“I know how long it’s been,” her voice cracked. Mulder knew she tried to be strong, tried to act as though always running, always moving, wasn’t wearing her down.

 

But he also saw the gentle puffiness that surrounded her eyes the mornings in which she showered for longer than usual.

 

But above all, he had seen her change. She was tired of running. He knew she was tired.

 

“Jesus Mulder, you can’t just spring this crap on me,” she stood up – her shorts too big, her sunhat too wide.

 

“I know you think you’re the brave one, I know you think it doesn’t matter but damn it Scully, it matters to me,” he stopped, his frustration palpable, “You matter to me.”

Scully’s hair was long – a blonde colour he didn’t recognise in a crowd. She was thinner, her eyes were darker. She was growing older every day and every day, and Margaret Scully was missing that.

 

And Muder was tired of missing things, tired of Scully missing things.

 

“Mulder, it’s not safe,” she sighed, bringing him back down to reality. She had always been the one to be rational. “It’s not safe.” The emphasis wasn’t required, but she added it in anyway – because she was angry, because somehow this conversation was all his fault.

 

The silence stretched out like a horizon.

 

Eventually, he spoke. It was normally him.

 

Mulder sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, “Okay, so we’ll buy a new phone. We’ll throw it away after this one call.”

 

“It doesn’t work that way, and you know it.”

 

“I just want your mom to know that you’re okay, what’s wrong with that?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong with that,” Scully snapped, her voice sounding harsher than she had intended. Seeing him recoil, she sighed and let silence hang between them momentarily.

 

A ghost of their past selves, hidden – long, long hidden.

 

Nausea twisted in her stomach , and she turned away from him.

 

“I’m going to take a shower,” She murmured, and disappeared into the bathroom. For the first time since they had arrived at the dank motel, he heard the bathroom lock.

 

Frustrated, he threw the screen door closed and returned to sit outside, watching the summer storm overhead roll in. Scully’s book lay discarded on the chair next to him – a brand new book, a rare treat in a life of chaos.

 

She had bought it two days prior at a small bookstore in Healdsburg. She had ventured to the shops alone, suggesting something about a salad for dinner, and had returned with too many green vegetables and a brand new book.

 

He picked it up, read the first two sentences, and discarded it back on the chair with a satisfying thump.

 

Sometime later, as the clouds had rolled over and the sky had darkened, Scully appeared in the doorway – hair dripping wet, feet bare – leaning against the frame with pursed lips.

 

“Okay,” She muttered, trying not to meet his eyes.

 

There were discarded sunflower seeds on the porch and someone had eaten her apple.

 

“Okay?”

 

“Okay, let’s call her. I want to call her.”

 

“Okay,” he stretched to take her hand.

 

She flopped down next to him on the chair, conceding, stretching her legs over his own and running her fingers down his cheek.

 

“I’m sorry,” She whispered, finally meeting his eyes.

 

“No, I’m sorry for interrupting ah…” he reached for her book and turned it over, scrunching up his nose in mock condemnation, “ _Life of Pi.”_

 

“Hey! I love this book.”

 

“A tiger? On a boat? Scully, you wouldn’t believe most of what I said for the first what… seven years of our relationship, but you’ll read a book about a tiger on a boat?”

 

“I’ll have you know that this book is very convincing.”

 

“What, and I’m not?” He pouted, and Scully found his bottom lip far too irresistible for her own good.

 

She smiled and stretched her arms to reach around his neck.

 

“Oh, you’re plenty convincing.”

 

* * *

 

 

Some days later, they found a small payphone by the side of the road.

 

Scully’s heart was thumping in her chest. She could feel her stomach turn in knots, was sure she was going to throw up her breakfast – yoghurt and bee pollen was hardly a graceful mix. And then she heard her mother’s voice - as soft and as reassuring as ever.

 

“Margaret Scully.”

 

“Mom? It’s me…. it’s Dana.”

 

There was silence for a moment. Mulder grasped Scully’s hand, running his thumb across her palm, reassuring her, centering her.

 

A constant.

 

“Dana, my darling,” her mother’s shock was evident in her voice.

 

“Hi, mom,” Scully’s eyes filled with tears and she tried desperately to will them not to come, “I miss you.”

 

Smiling, Mulder pressed a kiss to Scully’s cheek and walked away, affording her some privacy.

 

And for the first time in sometime, Mulder felt he had achieved something.

 

**3.**

It was winter. There was snow on the road and it had taken Scully twice as long to drive into town as it normally did. She had spent the time considering what she was going to say Mulder – how she would approach the matter. She’d spent all day considering it, practicing the words in her mind.

 

How was it she had faced the dark, aliens, even death – and yet still struggled over the right words to say.

 

The house loomed in front of her as she struggled to unlock the gate. Mulder had been promising to fix it ever since they had bought the property three months prior. Every day Scully left the house she struggled with the gate.

 

When she finally arrived home, it was to an empty house.

 

There was a note left on the kitchen bench in messy scrawl, with only the words ‘Gone running. Don’t worry’.

 

She wasn’t worried, tried not to be, anyway – but when she glanced outside to see the falling snow, she frowned and draped her coat over the lounge.

 

The house was still and she heard the stairs creak as she walked upstairs, unbuttoning her shirt as she went.

 

There were no photos on the wall – the paint was chipped and fading.

 

The house was wholly Unremarkable.

 

Moments later, she heard the door slam shut.

 

“Honey, I’m home!” He called, his fake falsetto voice calling up the stairs.

 

She smirked and appeared in view to him at the top of the stairs. Her hair was impossibly long, her shirt was half-unbuttoned and her eyebrow was raised.

 

He wanted to take her to bed and not let her leave until the following week. Possibly the week after, he reconsidered.

 

“How was your run?”

 

He had run for miles – running from something, running towards something – it all blurred into a myriad of thoughts, until he saw her car come up the drive and had started to run home.

 

Home, home.

 

There was something unspoken between them as he walked up the stairs two at a time to meet her.

 

“It was fine,” he kissed her forehead, and wrapped his arms around her, inhaling her scent, letting the feel of her wash over him.

 

She let herself be held.

 

There was silence.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, when it was still light outside, they lay skin on skin – her shirt long forgotten in the hall, his breathing gentle in her ear.

 

She had planned her words so meticulously, thought of nothing else for days. But when he pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles, she could no longer hold back.

“I want to go back to being a doctor.”

 

“Okay…”

 

“I have to do something Mulder. I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t live always looking over our shoulders… I just…” She trailed off, biting her lip. Why couldn’t she think of what to say? “I know it will be hard, but I want this.”

 

She pulled away from his body, looking up at him – her eyes searching his for answers.

 

He paused, took her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, “Then I want it too.”

 

There was a long comfortable silence between them, as she lay against his chest.

 

She thought of him, years ago, sitting beside her in a small motel room – telling her the story of his sister.

 

She had followed him – not because she believed his story, but because she had come to believe in him.

 

Sometimes her heart ached for that agent – the young, impressionable man she had first met, with a pocket full of sunflower seeds and a heart filled with hope.

 

Scully missed him in suits, missed arguing with him over slide shows. She missed the heady days when she first realised she not only loved him, but was in love with him. She missed his innuendo, the sound of his steady footsteps beside her, his face across diner tables, long drives across too many states to remember, moments in the dark.

 

But knowing that they had come far enough that she could now share his bed, in their Unremarkable Home with it’s broken gate – she knew she wanted to give them a future.

 

“I want this Mulder,” she reiterated, tracing her fingers along his chest, “And I want to stop dying my hair.”

 

He smiled against her temple, tried not to think about how he wouldn’t miss the smell of ammonia in their bathroom sink.

 

“I always loved your red hair.”

 

**4.**

 

“Scully… Scully, wake up.”

 

Mulder touched her shoulder gently. It was two am, pitch black and Scully was snoring gently beside him.

 

“Hmm?” She groggily opened her eyes, “Mulder… what’s wrong?”

 

“Come on, get dressed,” he whispered, handing her his woollen jumper.

 

“What time is it?” She rubbed her eyes wearily. She’d worked a long day, had been on her feet for hours and she was exhausted.

 

“Just after two. Come _on_ Scully.”

 

“Mulder, it’s two am. I’m exhausted. I’m going back to sleep.” She pulled the covers over her head in frustration.

 

“Scully,” he whispered, pulling back the cover and pressing his face close to hers, “Do you trust me?”

 

She looked at him sceptically. Even half-asleep, she perfected the ‘Oh bother’ face he knew so well.

 

Oh, how he loved that face.

 

“Do you trust me?” He repeated, kissing her forehead once, twice.

 

“Pass me the jumper,” She sighed, pulling it over her head, “Where are we going?”

 

“For a walk.”

 

“A walk? Mulder!” He loved the way she said his name with mock indignation.

 

He’d known he was in deep when he couldn’t wait to hear her say his name each day.

 

“Scull-y,” He smiled, kissing her again, “Come on. I promise it’s going to be worth it.”

 

He stretched his hand out to take hers, gently helping her out of bed. Scully pulled on a pair of sweats and well-loved sneakers and followed him outside onto the porch and into the dark. It was all at once familiar and new.

 

“Mulder, where exactly are we going?”

 

“Not very far, I promise,” Mulder walked on ahead of her, a bounce in his step, his exuberance too much for her sleep-addled mind. “Scully, get your little legs over here.”

 

He had a picnic blanket under one arm and a flash light in the other – the light from which bobbed gently in front of them. She slowed to a grumpy, reluctant pace, trying not to think of chasing monsters in the dark.

 

They made it to their gate – still broken, Scully huffed with frustration – and continued down the driveway.

 

“Mulder, I have work in four hours. I’m too old for this now.”

 

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

 

“I left it in New Mexico.”

 

“We’re heading just up this hill,” Mulder pointed to the small hill at the back of their property, waiting for her to catch up. Scully knew the hill – she ran that way some mornings, before the sun and Mulder were up. It made her thighs burn and her feet ache.

 

But then he turned to her - her eyes had adjusted in the dark – and he looked so excited to be on an adventure with her that she couldn’t deny him anything.

 

She never could.

 

“Okay,” She smiled, slipping her hand in his and letting him lead her up the hill.

 

Finally, they reached the top – Scully’s breathing laboured by the time they had. To think just thirty minutes ago she had been fast asleep. There were no other lights around – they had no neighbours, the nearest town was miles away – except for the dull glow of their flash lights.

 

“This is the spot,” He glanced around, seemingly satisfied with the clearing in the trees, and spread the picnic blanket out. He sat down and patted the blanket for her to join him.

 

Her nose was cold and her knees protested to kneeling on the ground.

 

“Come on,” he grinned, taking her hand and drawing her towards him, and then he lay down, folding his hands over his stomach.

 

Scully lay beside him and looked up. It was a clear night – there wasn’t a single cloud in the sky, and there was nothing but silence around them.

 

She shifted closer to him, seeking his body warmth, and tucked her hand in his.

 

“Now,” she asked, looking hopelessly up at the sky, “What on earth is it that could make interrupting my sleep worthwhile?”

 

“Shh,” Mulder whispered, pointing at the sky, “Wait.”

 

Just seconds later that the sky lit up – tiny falling stars across the sky, and Scully heard herself exhale loudly.

 

“What in the earth…”

 

“It’s a meteor shower, once in a decade event,” Mulder explained, looking pleased with himself. She knew what his expression would be without even seeing his face.

 

“Wow,” She exhaled, and rewarded him by entwining her legs with him, tucking into the nook of his chin.

 

Suddenly she wasn’t so cold anymore.

 

They watched in silence for moments that stretched as far as the sky – Mulder pointing to particularly impressive stars in the sky, making her laugh with his fake astrological knowledge.

 

How he loved to make her laugh.

 

“So…” He asked, leaning on one elbow to look down at her, “Was that worth losing sleep over?”

 

She smiled at him with sleepy eyes and stretched one arm to hook around his neck, drawing him closer to her.

 

“Oh, yes,” she murmured breathlessly, meeting his lip in a heated kiss that made her toes curl.

 

His lips had started an assault on her neck, tracing down to the neckline of her jumper, leaving marks he would have to apologise for in the morning. She gasped as his hand began to trace under her jumper, across the bare skin of her belly.

 

“Hey Scully?” he whispered, taking his lips away from the soft skin on her neck.

 

“My collarbone, you’re up to my collarbone.”

 

He grinned, and placed a kiss on the corner of her lips, “Think it will start raining sleeping bags?”

 

Her laughter filled the night air, and nothing else mattered but making the night a little quieter and the stars a little brighter.

 

**5.**

 

 

Scully quickly disappeared down the hall, and The Door loomed in front of her – a reminder of a past life she thought was long gone. She opened it slowly.

 

When they’d been asked to assist in a short term case with the X Files, that they return to their old office had been Mulder’s only request of the FBI.

 

Somehow, she had been expecting a pencil to fall from the roof – an old poster of a UFO, scraps of paper, sunflower seeds.

 

Instead, it was largely empty – two clean desks stood pressed against the edge of the room - ready to be used.

 

She sat against the nearest desk and thumbed her cross.

 

Scully was overwhelmed - that after years of running, they should be back in the same room where it all began.

 

“What are you doing down here in the dark?” Mulder came into view – his new suit freshly pressed, his skin clean shaven.

 

“Isn’t that my line?” she retorted and he sat down beside her.

 

“Looks even smaller now – no wonder we couldn’t fit two desks when all my things were in here,” She laughed in spite of herself, meeting his eyes, “You okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” She smiled at him, promising wordlessly that she was.

 

“I found this,” Mulder handed her an old photo - it was over twenty years old. Two baby-faced agents smiled back at her.

 

“How did you find this?” Scully whispered, turning the photo over to read the date, “God look at us! Look how much hair you had!”

 

She traced her thumb across the photo and he smiled at her.

 

“I don’t know Mulder…” She began – a watery smile, her voice laced with emotion, “For the longest time I didn’t look back – I didn’t want to. I was so focused on keeping you safe that I think I nearly destroyed us.”

 

“No, no,” Mulder took her hand once more, his eyes searching hers, centering her, “You did what you thought was right.”

 

“I was scared,” She admitted, and she could see the irony in their situation herself – truths being spoken in an office where so many untruths had passed. “I didn’t want to lose you again.”

 

“Come here,” He whispered, standing to pull her into his arms.

 

“I’m sorry.” She tearfully admitted against his chest, letting her hands thread under his jacket – a gesture she had never permitted herself to do in this office before.

 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

 

She shook her head, disagreeing with him.

 

“Scully, you’ve always saved me, you’ve always kept me honest.” She stepped back gently to meet his eyes – searching, wanting. It was something rich and strange, to be standing with her in his arms, in an office where they had so often stood apart – on opposite of the desks, on opposite sides of belief.

 

It made him want to meet her for the first time all over again.

 

He bent to capture her lips with his own and she instinctively brought her hand to his cheek, letting her thumb trace across his cheekbone, “I always wanted to do that in here.” He admitted when they separated, and she laughed – the delicious sing-song laugh he had always loved.

 

“You should’ve,” She challenged, and he looked at her with mock indignation.

 

“And risk coping a left to the eye? No thanks.”

 

“Oh I don’t know,” Scully smirked, kissing him gently once more before stepping back and smoothing out her dress. “It would’ve depended on the day.”

 

“Hey Scully, I was thinking today…” He looked at her sitting against her desk, the slit in her dress showing enough thigh to be distracting. “Remember that time we killed Ronnie Strickland?”

 

“Mulder, as I recall, you killed Ronnie Strickland. I uh… you know, I wasn’t even there.”

 

“No, no – you were there. Remember? You had that vibrating bed thing.”

 

“Of course you remember the bed.”

 

Mulder smiled at the memory – for years, after they had first gone on the run – they hadn’t discussed their former lives. There was too much pain, too many memories – there was William.

 

Agents Mulder and Scully had been lost in New Mexico and it had taken years to get them back.

 

But after they’d returned from the Caribbean, there had been a message on their phones. It was Skinner, and could they please call him?

 

Abductees being murdered, brutalised – no leads, no profile. The X Files was to reopen, short-term, to investigate – and they were asked to return with it.

 

They’d discussed it during evening walks, over dinner, pressed skin-to-skin, nose-to-nose in bed.

 

In the end, they’d both been resigned to their fate.

 

“I remember,” She smiled, her hair falling in a wave across her face, “What about that the time that you used government funds to take me on a date in LA?”

 

“Wait, that was a date?” Mulder asked, and she looked at him in horror. When he laughed, she realised she’d been had and pouted.

 

“Mulder, you cheat.”

 

“I knew it was a date, I was just making sure that you did.”

 

“I’m certain if you take a girl out on the town for bottles of champagne – “

 

“ – actually, it was only one bottle.”

 

She waved her hands, dismissing his claim. “ – If you take a woman out for a bottle of champagne, and then take her back to your very expensive hotel room with a Jacuzzi, I am fairly sure that classifies as a date.”

 

“I’ll remember that for the next time I’m trying to woo my partner.”

 

“I think your wooing technique needs some work,” She smiled, and straightened out her dress, “We should get back for the briefing.”

 

“Still think we’re making the right decision?” He looked at her – his eyes searching hers – questioning, probing.

 

“Yes,” Scully whispered, squeezing his hand gently, “So long as you don’t kill anymore vampires.”

 

“Werewolves?”

 

“Mulder.”

 

She sighed and crossed her arms – a smile across her face.

 

“Come on G woman. Let’s go fight the good fight.”

 

And it was surreal to her, that being with him once more in the space they had always occupied – this time as more than simply his partner – did not feel surreal at all.

 

Because, after all their fighting for the truth, after all the heart ache and the moments of sheer terror, all the evils they had fought - she had grown to realise, however slowly, however hopefully, that the truth had been there all along.

 

As Mulder walked along the hall in front of her, leaving the tiny basement once more, his gait more familiar than ever – she knew there had only ever been one choice.


End file.
